


Guilt

by Oshii



Category: Rush (2013)
Genre: After the accident, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 10:41:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3607146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshii/pseuds/Oshii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James sees Niki after the accident, and is crushed by the breathtaking weight of his guilt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is intended to portray the characters as played in the 2013 film. It is not intended in any way as a reflection of the real Niki Lauda or the real, late James Hunt.

James had balked when he’d caught sight of Niki’s ravaged face – what bloke wouldn’t, honestly, he _did_ feel bad for the guy wholly and truly but bloody _hell_ , those were some nasty scars – and he felt guilty at the way Niki, perceptive as ever, had merely nodded and resolutely said _that bad, huh?_

_No_ , James had lied, barely more than breath, his face unable to relinquish its contortion of disgust as Niki moved toward him, out of the shadows, and he stared as the sunlight shone off the fresh skin graft mottling the other driver’s forehead. James wanted to apologize, although he wasn’t sure what good it would do here save for alleviate the sickening weight of his own remorse.

Niki hadn’t wanted to race. He’d called the meeting to cancel it. James had used his popularity to dispel the notion, taunting Lauda all the while and thinking nothing more about the very real dangers he’d proposed during that meeting.

_I swayed the room,_ he’d admitted, looking up at Niki through eyes lowered with shame. _So, in many ways, I feel responsible for what happened to you._

_Yes,_ Niki had replied simply, and the instant _twist_ of nauseous guilt that gripped James’s stomach left him reeling, but then he’d continued, _but trust me, watching you win those races on TV while I was lying in hospital, fighting for my life…you were equally responsible for getting me back in the car._ And then he’d turned and walked away, the set of his shoulders the same hunched and aggressively determined way James remembered them as, and

And _still_ James felt guilty, to see the lasting effects his decision had left them with; the new scars and the old attitude that did little to ease James’s humiliation. He respected the hell out of Niki, saw him as a contemptuous annoyance turned worthy adversary, and to think that his jabs during the meeting in Nurburging had nearly cost the Austrian his life left James twisted up inside in a way he wasn’t sure how to fix, even as he chuckled at something Bubbles said and climbed inside the McLaren, sliding his mask down and starting his engine with a deafening, angry snarl. His apprehension then dissolved in the familiar excitement at the pungent aroma of gasoline and the vibrating thrumming of the motor as he accelerated to his position at the start line.

The announcer shouted his usual patter, rousing the crowd to roaring cheers and exaltations of excitement. James vaguely heard it above the rising snarling din of himself and the other drivers, and he forced away any thoughts of Niki save for the mantra: _drive faster; beat him_.

\--

The race had ended quite spectacularly, with Niki earning a standing ovation and being crowd-surfed away from the pit as James and the others looked on – some with muted amusement, all with new respect for the Austrian’s determination and resilience. That victory was enough to ease James’s guilt, if temporarily, and he was able to sashay back to his trailer and join his companions in a rousing toast to the excellence of the sport and the fruition of their young and frivolous lives.

\--

It wasn’t until later that night, after the fans had dispersed and the track lights were blazing with blinding brilliance, illuminating the whole track and the after-parties taking place in the pit below, ripe with flushed conversation and raucous hooting and booze and smoke, that James found Niki.

“Hey, Niki,” he’d started, ambling a bit drunkenly over to where the Austrian driver stood alone, and he faltered a bit when he noticed the way Niki was holding himself, hunched over and tensed, a preoccupied expression on his face that intensified as James moved closer to him.

“Ngh,” he responded, and closed his eyes. James stopped, brow furrowing. He noticed the dark and crusted scabs mottling Niki’s ear; the reddish buds of blood blooming beneath the bandages. He winced; Lauda was probably in pain, having pushed himself too far to reclaim his lost points earlier. He couldn’t imagine the other driver’s agony, the thought of such severe burns incomparable to any injuries he himself had sustained in scraps with other drivers. Again, James felt the old guilt resurfacing. _I swayed the room the race the rain should never have gone on my fault my fault he crashed because of the rain and it’s my fault_

“Niki,” James repeated, and this time his tone was softer. He moved in closer, reaching up to set a hand on his arm with surprising gentleness. “Are you all right?”

Niki didn’t reply at first; he kept his eyes closed and his stance even more closed, stiff and guarded. Then, he exhaled lowly, mouth quirking apart to respond: “The pain pills. They make me nauseous.”

“That’s a drag,” James replied, but not without sympathy. He kept his hand on Niki’s arm, lowering his voice even more, feeling the need to conceal this matter as much as possible. “Can I get you anything? I’ve got some antacids in my suit.”

“Marlene is getting mine.” Niki mumbled, still managing to inject the statement with curtness despite his current incapacitation, and then he moaned softly, hanging his head and doubling over. James, unsure of what else to do, rubbed his back. It seemed to help; Niki relaxed a little with a small sigh, muscles loosening under James’s ministrations, and James found that comforting him eased his own anxiety as well. That he could remedy Niki’s suffering brought him some measure of peace.

“Why are you doing this?” Niki questioned, methodical as always, but his tone was soft, quiet. He glanced up at James, and his eyes were still set with the same guarded hardness but, improbably, also softened with a new and open frailty, borne from James’s kindness.

James pressed his own mouth into a thin line, casting his gaze down the track, then down at Niki. “Because, my ratty little friend,” he joked, trying for levity, “I’ve been where you are, and it’s no picnic. Now, what say we get you sitting down somewhere? You look fit to keel over any second.”

“I am fine,” Niki insisted, straightening up with some effort. “Don’t fuss over me. Go, join your friends. They must be waiting.” But then he swayed, closing his eyes again and crouching, wrapping both arms around his middle, and James unceremoniously lowered down to kneel beside him.

“You are my friend, Niki,” James murmured, and the gravity of that statement resonated soundly between the two of them. Niki looked up at James again, and his eyes were wide with profound wonder. James reciprocated the look with a self-conscious but assuring smile, hand still on his back, and when he saw Marlene heading their way he gave Niki’s back a final parting rub and rose to his feet. “See you later. Take care of yourself, Niki.”

Niki glanced from his worried wife back to James, and through the sickness and misery managed to nod with affirming reciprocation. “Thank you, James.”

And James nodded back, and left Niki to the ministrations of his doting wife.

He headed back to rejoin his comrades in the pit, absolved of the pinning weight of his guilt, at least for tonight.

 

 

 

 


End file.
